


Who Needs Sleep

by Dragonflies_and_Katydids



Series: Resist [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Awkwardness, Bratting, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, First Time, Light Bondage, M/M, Mild Kink, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, and in as much as anyone with a praise kink that size can be a brat, because alistair, brief mention of past non-con, discussion of breathplay, only a little though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:15:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23320795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonflies_and_Katydids/pseuds/Dragonflies_and_Katydids
Summary: Alistair's just learning all kinds of new skills this week. Daylen might be finding out a few interesting things, too.
Relationships: Alistair/Male Amell (Dragon Age)
Series: Resist [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1630051
Comments: 19
Kudos: 126





	Who Needs Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> FYI, there are parts of this that wander vaguely toward consensual non-con. I don't think it gets close enough to warrant a tag, but if that's a big no for you, you might want to give this one a pass.
> 
> I feel like there are a ton of other tags I'm missing, but I'm drawing a blank and I've been staring at this for 20 minutes. If you think there are tags I should add, shout 'em out.

"Do you want to fuck me?" Alistair asks, apropos of exactly nothing.

Daylen, who was in the middle of pouring hot water into a mug for tea, almost drops the mug in surprise. That he manages to keep hold of it despite the near-boiling water he pours on his hand is a minor miracle, though not one he's inclined to appreciate right then.

The immediate aftermath involves a certain amount of swearing, and the need for a bit of elfroot salve, but eventually the excitement dies down, and they're back where they started: Alistair prodding the large pot holding this morning's porridge while Daylen sips his tea and tries to look awake. He's never been fond of mornings, and he's feeling particularly bleary-eyed today, after a whole week without enough sleep.

It's his own fault, of course, but really. How is he supposed to resist when Alistair is _right there_ , warm and obedient and far more than willing? Every night for the last three, Daylen has sworn to himself that tonight they'll do nothing but sleep, and every night, they crawl into his tent and he forgets to care about the next morning. Alistair will curl up against him and push his ass back against Daylen's cock, or lie facing him and trail fingers over Daylen's skin until Daylen's whole body is burning, or--really, if Daylen is honest--just look at him with wide eyes and parted lips.

Or like last night, when there were wide eyes and parted lips and Alistair's voice gone husky with need as he asked, "Can I please suck your cock?" He barely stuttered over the word cock, and Daylen is learning that he has no willpower at all when Alistair can do that. Which might be why Alistair is getting better about saying certain words without stammering.

"So," Alistair says, breaking into Daylen's thoughts. Just as well, because they're not thoughts Daylen should be thinking while sitting at the communal campfire. He and Alistair are alone for the moment, everyone else engaged in their own morning routines, but the promise of breakfast will draw them all in soon enough.

"So?" Daylen repeats, arching his eyebrows at Alistair.

"Do you?" Alistair asks. He's making intense eye-contact with the porridge, and his face is getting redder by the moment, but he adds, "Want to, um, f-fuck me."

"I'm pretty sure I have," Daylen says. "More than once."

"Not my mouth," Alistair says in exasperation.

"Oh, it was definitely your mouth, not someone else's. And I hope it will be your mouth again."

"That's not what I meant," Alistair begins, then sees Daylen's expression and stops. "Which you knew."

"Maybe," Daylen says with an unrepentant grin. "But why don't you spell it out for me?"

Alistair gives him an entreating look that Daylen ignores for the moment, curious to see if Alistair can finish the conversation. He is the one who started it, after all, and while his embarrassment is plain, it isn't the paralyzing mortification Daylen has seen a couple times in the last week. Daylen blames the Chantry for that, but then, he blames the Chantry for most things.

The porridge is getting another intent look, of the kind Alistair might give to something found in an unknown mage's workroom: poised to react if it turns out to be dangerous, but also aware it might be worth the risk. Daylen sips his tea--carefully, as he's already burned himself enough for one morning--and tries not to give Alistair the same look. He really wishes he was more awake for this discussion, but he has a feeling the most difficult part will be getting Alistair to say the words out loud, and that mostly requires Daylen wait patiently. Something he's actually better at when his mind is still sluggish.

Watching Alistair rehearse the words to himself is both amusing and frustrating, an exercise in thwarted anticipation that does a better job of waking Daylen up than the tea. When Alistair does finally say the words, they come out so fast Daylen can barely distinguish one from the next.

"Doyouwanttofuckmyass?"

"What, _now_?" Daylen asks in feigned shock. He likes to tease Alistair sometimes, just to remind him that sex doesn't have to be serious. "Here?"

"No!" Alistair's ears are the same color as the coals under the pot. "Just...in general. At some point. Eventually."

Daylen reins in his desire to tease, not to mention his initial emphatic assent, for a more neutral, "Do you want me to?"

Alistair's nod is every bit as enthusiastic as Daylen could want, even if he is still doing an excellent impersonation of their fire. "I mean, if you want to. Because if you don't-"

"I wouldn't worry about that," Daylen says dryly. Alistair gives him a sideways look, hopeful and nervous together, so Daylen adds, "Yes. Yes, I want to."

Across the fire, Leliana pokes her head out of her tent. "Is breakfast ready?" She's no more fond of mornings than Daylen is, and unless she has the final watch, she almost never comes out of her tent until there's food to be had.

"Soon," Daylen says.

She nods and disappears back into her tent, but it won't be for long, Daylen knows. He takes the opportunity to give Alistair's booted foot a gentle kick and murmur, "We'll talk tonight, but after that, we have to sleep. If we don't, I'm going to set the wrong person on fire, next time we're in a fight."

Alistair nods, looking unexpectedly thoughtful. As Leliana re-emerges from her tent, he finally says in a tone of excessive innocence, "Or we could go to bed earlier and do both."

Daylen snorts tea up his nose, but even as he's coughing, he raises his mug to Alistair in a salute.

###

They do go to bed earlier than usual, but they spend most of the extra time arguing over exactly what, when, and how they're going to do anything.

"No," Daylen finally says flatly, after they've danced carefully around each other several times. They're in his tent, minus armor and boots but otherwise still dressed, sitting cross-legged on the ground facing each other by the light of a tiny wisp Daylen devoutly hopes isn't bright enough to create a shadow show for anyone outside the tent. Though at the rate they're going, there won't be anything happening that might create such a show.

"I'm not going to just grab you and start pounding away," Daylen adds, just to be absolutely clear. "Not the first time we do this." And maybe not the second or third, but that's an argument for later.

"You did before," Alistair protests. "The first time. The real first time."

The first time Daylen fucked him. The first time Alistair was fucked by anyone. Daylen winces at the reminder. He'd known Alistair was inexperienced, but at the time, he hadn't realized inexperienced meant no experience. "Yeah, and I still feel bad about that."

"And I still don't understand why," Alistair says, the same thing he said the previous two times they've had this conversation. It's in danger of becoming an argument they have by rote, and apparently Alistair realizes it, too, because this time, he adds, "I wanted it. I wanted exactly that."

" _Exactly_ that?" Daylen asks, trying to keep the skepticism from his voice.

Alistair looks away, cheeks turning red, and Daylen wishes he'd done a better job controlling his tone. The one thing Daylen wants more than anything else is for Alistair to never be embarrassed again about the things he likes.

But to his surprise, Alistair takes a deep breath and says, "Yes. Exactly that." He licks his lips nervously, but he keeps going. "All right, maybe not _exactly_ exactly, but sometimes I would think about things like that, at night, when I..." A hand gesture fills in the words he can't bring himself to say. "I would think about you. About you holding me down, and..." The blush deepens as he wraps his hand loosely around his own throat by way of demonstration. "I would...do it to myself and pretend it was you."

He somehow manages to blush a deeper shade of red. "Not every time," he adds softly. "Not even really most of the time. Just, sometimes, if we'd been in a really big fight, or...or...I don't know why, sometimes I'd just want it."

Daylen knows his mouth is hanging open, but there isn't enough blood left in his brain for him to remember how to fix that.

"It doesn't really work, though," Alistair says. He hasn't dropped his hand from his throat, and his fingers shift restlessly as he talks. Daylen can't look away from them. "Or maybe there's a way to do it without another person, and I just couldn't figure it out."

That gets Daylen's attention. Alarmed, his mouth snaps shut and his eyes jump to Alistair's face.

Alistair is still staring at the ground, rubbing idly at his throat. "I wasn't...wasn't going to do anything except with my hand. Anything else just seemed too dangerous."

Thank the Maker for that. Daylen relaxes and goes back to watching Alistair's fingers move. With his mouth closed this time.

"I couldn't make it work with just my hands, though," Alistair says. "I'd lose track of one or the other, and it was good but...not as good as I thought it maybe could be." He drags his gaze up to meet Daylen's with obvious reluctance. "Not as good as I thought it could be if it was you. And I didn't think about you f-fucking my mouth, I didn't know I wouldn't be able to breathe when you did that, so maybe what I was thinking wasn't exactly the same, but it was kind of the same, and...and when I opened my eyes and you were right there and I could see you were hard, I thought, even if it wasn't what I'd been imagining, it would be close, it would be you holding me down and-"

"Stop," Daylen says, as gently as he can when all he wants is to pin Alistair to the ground and re-create that fantasy. "We need to talk about this, and I need to not be thinking with my cock while we do it."

Alistair gives an embarrassed half laugh and says apologetically, "You asked."

"I did," Daylen says. "And we're going to come back to it later." He can't stop himself from laying his hand over top of Alistair's where it's still wrapped around his throat. "We're going to come back to it, and you're going to tell me everything. In detail."

Alistair swallows hard, and Daylen wishes he could feel it against his own palm. Or maybe he doesn't, because if he could, he might not be able to stop, not with Alistair looking at him like that.

Daylen takes his hand back and closes his eyes to shut out the sight of all the many things Alistair is doing to distract him. Looking at him being at the top of that list. "That's later," Daylen says, reminding himself more than Alistair. "We're talking about something else right now."

"But do you believe me?" Alistair asks. "When I say I wanted it exactly the way it happened?"

"Yeah," Daylen says. He definitely does, but clearing away that problem has made him realize he was using it to hide another. One they're not going to solve by talking. One that might not be solvable at all.

He opens his eyes, even though he doesn't want to see the disappointment he's about to put on Alistair's face. "I still won't do it," he says. "And I'm not saying no because of you. I'm saying no because of me."

Alistair's face goes through a number of expressions: disappointment, confusion, comprehension, and finally anger tinged with pain. "Oh."

An awkward silence falls. Alistair has learned not to apologize when they run face-first into a reminder of Kinloch Hold, but it still stops him dead.

"So yes," Daylen says, trying to hurry them past it. "I believe you, but we're not doing it that way."

Alistair takes a deep breath, and when he's finished blowing it back out, he says in agreement, "Not that way."

There's another uncomfortable pause, but this time, it gives Daylen a chance to think, and the pieces of an idea start falling into place. It's not precisely what Alistair wanted, but it's close, and it's something Daylen can do without any problems.

"Have you ever fucked yourself?" Daylen asks.

Alistair's face turns scarlet, and he shakes his head.

"Did you want to?"

A nod this time, more hesitant than Daylen is comfortable with.

"Why didn't you?"

Alistair looks like he's trying to figure out a way to answer without speaking, but he gives up after a moment and mumbles to Daylen's shoulder, "It was a barracks, I was trying to be quick."

"You didn't live in a barracks after you left the templars."

"I didn't...it was..." He makes a gesture Daylen can't interpret. "I guess I did try it, once, but the angles were all weird, and I gave up before I really got anywhere." His smile is embarrassed. "I was probably doing it wrong."

"Maybe not," Daylen says. "It can be pretty awkward without help, at least at first."

"And you're going to help?"

"No. I'm going to tell you how, but you're going to do all the work, _and_ I'm not going to fuck you." Alistair's face falls, but he perks up a little when Daylen adds, "Not tonight, anyway."

"But you will."

"Next time we have a real bed." If Daylen is remembering the map correctly, in four or five days they should pass through a decent-sized town, one large enough to have an inn with individual rooms, rather than a single common sleeping space.

Alistair knows the map as well as Daylen does. He looks equal parts disappointed, relieved, and nervous as he does the calculation.

"This is how it's going to go," Daylen says, pulling Alistair's attention back to him. "Tonight, and every night until we get to an inn, you're going to fuck yourself while I watch. You'll spread your legs for me and show me how much you want my cock inside you."

The sound of Alistair swallowing is clearly audible, and Daylen smiles.

"When we do get to the inn, after we've had supper, you'll tell the others you're tired." Daylen unfolds his legs so he can come up onto hands and knees, leaning forward into Alistair's space. "You'll go up to our room, and you'll take off your clothes, and you'll get yourself ready for me."

His mouth is inches from Alistair's, but rather than kiss him, Daylen crawls forward, crowding in until Alistair uncrosses his own legs to keep his balance as he's forced to lean further and further back.

"You'll fuck yourself open and wait for me," Daylen says. He lets his voice drop low and dangerous, his eyes narrowing. "You won't make yourself come, not until I say so."

Alistair shakes his head, mesmerized. He's leaning back on his elbows now, Daylen looming above, one knee between his legs and a hand on either side of him.

"But you won't know how long it will be before I get there, either." Daylen gives him an edged smile. "There are a lot of things to distract me, at an inn. I could talk to someone, or play a game of cards, or just decide to enjoy a drink or two. I could take my time, or I could decide I was done right after you left. You won't know. All you'll know is that you'd better be ready when I get there, whenever that happens to be. If I take long enough, you might have to keep fucking yourself, just to be sure you're ready. Because do you know what will happen when I get there?"

Alistair shakes his head again, eyes wide.

Daylen brushes the lightest possible kiss across his cheek and murmurs into his ear, "When I feel like it, I'll go up to our room, and I'll expect to find you on the bed, on your hands and knees, ready for me. I'll lock the door, and I'll unlace my trousers, and I will fuck you as hard and as fast as I can. I'm not going to bother getting undressed, and I'm going to keep going until either you tell me to stop, or I come."

If they weren't so close, Daylen might have missed the small sound Alistair makes, a tiny whimper like the one he made that first morning, right before he came without a hand on his cock. Daylen has never seen anything as incredible as that, Alistair coming apart from nothing more than Daylen's voice, and for all Daylen has thought about it a hundred times in the last week, the memory still makes his cock twitch.

"You look so beautiful when I use your mouth," Daylen says, and he puts it in his voice, how much that pleases him, "but I'll bet you look just as good, waiting for me to use your ass."

"Maker," Alistair breathes.

"Do you want that?" Daylen asks, lips brushing Alistair's ear with each word.

"Yes!"

"Good," Daylen says briskly, letting his voice return to its usual register. He gives Alistair a quick kiss on the cheek and crawls backward to give him room, grinning at the dazed expression on Alistair's face. "Then take your clothes off."

###

A storm and a washed-out bridge make it seven days to the inn, not four, and Daylen spends the last two hating himself just a little. He could stop the whole game, of course, but he doesn't want to do that, either. What he wants is to be at the Maker-damned inn, doing his best to fuck Alistair through the mattress, the bedframe, and the floor.

Since he can't have that yet, he tortures himself by doing exactly as promised: making Alistair fuck himself every night while Daylen watches and provides occasional direction. By the third night, Alistair has stopped looking embarrassed and apologetic at his own awkwardness, which--not at all to Daylen's surprise--makes him about ten times less awkward. By the fourth night, Daylen's instructions are less about providing guidance and more about the way Alistair gasps when Daylen growls orders in his ear. And maybe also about the way it makes Daylen's balls ache to see how eagerly he obeys.

By the fifth night, Daylen is forced to acknowledge the flaw in his clever plan: the sight of Alistair fucking himself with three of his own fingers, when Daylen isn't allowed to pull his fingers out of the way and fuck him, is excruciating. It doesn't matter that he's not denying either of them a chance to come, that he fucks Alistair's mouth or hand or thighs before they sleep every night. It's that he's taunting himself with something he's not allowed to have.

"Daylen," Alistair whispers. He's lying on his back in the middle of the tent, holding one leg up to give Daylen a clear view of what he's doing. His eyes are half closed and his skin flushed, his hips rolling to drive his fingers deeper.

"What?" Daylen asks, unable to pull his gaze away from Alistair's cock and the drop of liquid forming at the tip.

"I hate this," Alistair says with feeling.

Daylen has learned enough about Alistair by now to silence the alarm that immediately sounds in his head, though he does go on alert. "Do you want to stop?"

Alistair pulls his fingers out so he can flop back, arms and legs spread, to stare at the canvas above him. He's panting lightly, his hair starting to darken with sweat. "If I say yes," he asks eventually, "will you still fuck me?"

"Alistair," Daylen says, trying not to let it become a groan, because his willpower really does evaporate when Alistair says things like that, "you have no idea how much I want to fuck you." He's thought about it pretty much constantly today, which made walking uncomfortable to say the least. "Does that mean you want to stop?"

There's a pause while Alistair continues his careful study of the tent's ceiling, and a part of Daylen wants him to say yes, stop the game, fuck me now.

"No," Alistair says slowly. He rolls his head to the side so he can see Daylen, and a lazy smile spreads over his face. "I just want to whine about it."

It hits Daylen then, with a shock he feels in his fingertips, that Alistair is deliberately provoking him.

"Really," Daylen says flatly, or as flatly as he can manage under the circumstances. To make up for his less-than-convincing tone, he pins Alistair to the ground with more force than necessary, using magic to drag his arms above his head.

The drop of liquid Daylen was watching drips from Alistair's cock onto his stomach and another begins to form. Daylen swipes up both with a finger and pushes that finger into Alistair's mouth. Alistair doesn't need to be told what to do: he closes his lips tight around it and sucks, rubbing his tongue over the tip to clean it.

"If you're going to whine," Daylen says, "I'll just have to keep your mouth so busy you can't."

Alistair shuts his eyes and arches against the magic holding him in place, sucking harder on Daylen's finger. He's using his teeth now, scraping lightly to get anything he might somehow have missed, and for just a moment, Daylen wants him so badly he doesn't dare touch. It's one thing to make Alistair come just by talking: that fits their roles in this game. It doesn't fit nearly so well for Daylen to lose control and come all over him the moment he gets a hand on his cock.

The nice thing about their relative positions is that Daylen doesn't have to admit he has a problem. He can simply tease Alistair and pretend it was part of his plan all along, and by the time Daylen does start to stroke himself, Alistair is too far gone to notice how fast it's over.

###

If Daylen thought the last few days were painful, he learns how wrong he was when they reach the inn and he has to sit through supper without squirming. He has plenty of practice controlling his face and body, but he's never been a patient person, and he's not used to waiting for something he could have right now. He makes other people wait, at least in games like this, and he never lets himself want the end so much that anticipation turns desperate.

Apparently he forgot that part this time.

When supper is over, he manages what he hopes is a casual and unhurried goodnight to the others before heading to his room. Alistair has had plenty of time, in part because Daylen made one change to the plan at the last moment: he didn't make Alistair sit through dinner with the group. Alistair started to sweat as soon as the town was in sight, and he alternated between flushed and pale all the way to the inn. It got him a couple sideways looks from the others, and Daylen was honestly concerned he might pass out if he had to excuse himself from the table to go upstairs.

So Alistair got a tray in their room, and Daylen had to make conversation in the common room while privately questioning his own sanity. He's still questioning it as he finds their room and unlocks the door, checking over his shoulder to be sure no one else is around before he bumps the door open. Why had he thought this whole plan was a good idea?

Then he steps into their room, and oh. Yes. That's why.

Alistair is naked and exactly where Daylen told him to be: on the bed, on his hands and knees, his ass toward the door and his knees spread. The room is so small, Daylen can almost touch him from the doorway, and they're more than close enough for Daylen to watch a bead of sweat trickling down his arm. The same arm Alistair is half hiding his face behind, so that all Daylen can see of his expression are his eyes, staring back.

With a jolt that hopefully isn't visible, Daylen remembers where he is and steps into the room to shut the door. His body blocks Alistair's view of his hands shaking as he turns the key in the lock, and he has them under control again by the time Alistair can see them.

What Daylen wants to see is Alistair's whole face, because it's impossible to judge his expression from just his eyes. In planning this, Daylen assumed he'd have a last chance to check whether Alistair had changed his mind about what happens next, and he'd hoped to do it without dropping the role he's supposed to be playing. Alistair's cock is hard where it hangs between his legs, but that doesn't mean much, and his eyes are wide enough, Daylen is wary of making assumptions.

He's about to give up and just ask when Alistair shifts his weight, dropping to one elbow and reaching down with the hand closest to Daylen to stroke himself. His lips part on a sigh, and his whole body moves in response to the touch, but his eyes stay fixed on Daylen's in a direct challenge. For all that it's a look he's only given Daylen a few times, Daylen can hear him as clearly as if he'd spoken: "I didn't say that I yield."

"Did I say you could touch your cock?" Daylen asks. He doesn't raise his voice, but Alistair snatches his hand away.

"Spread your knees wider," he says, and now his words are an order, sharp and commanding. He yanks at his laces, letting Alistair see his impatience, the controlled violence in every movement as he adds, "More. Wider."

The salve is on top of the chest at the foot of the bed, the jar already uncorked. Daylen doesn't pay attention to how much he scoops onto his fingers, so long as it's at least enough; he doesn't care if it's too much and he's wasting it. It's all he can do to fist his cock, spreading it over the head and down the shaft, and he doesn't take his eyes off Alistair while he does it. He can't, not when Alistair looks like this: trembling legs spread wide, ass fucked slick and open, hard cock beginning to drip onto the sheets beneath him.

"Please," Alistair whispers. His eyes are huge now, and very dark.

Daylen kneels on the bed behind him, one hand spreading the cheeks of Alistair's ass and the other wrapped around his own cock. There's enough salve that the head of his cock slides easily when he rubs it over Alistair's hole, up and down while Alistair makes frustrated noises deep in his throat. Not in, though, not yet. Daylen wants to enjoy this last moment of anticipation, the aching need before everything becomes heat spiraling up and up and up.

Alistair has both elbows braced under him now, his head in his hands and his fingers in his hair, trying to find anything he can grip. "Please, Daylen! Please-"

The word becomes a groan as Daylen lets the head of his cock begin to stretch Alistair open, one hand around the shaft in case Alistair tries to rush things. When it's clear he won't, despite the desperation in his voice, Daylen pushes in slowly, one inch at a time, listening to Alistair beg him for more, please Daylen, more more more. And Daylen gives it to him: a little more and a little more and a little more, until Alistair is tight as a fist around the whole length of his cock, sobbing nothing but please Daylen please Daylen please.

"Alistair." His voice is raspy, almost unrecognizable and barely audible over Alistair's begging.

Audible enough, though, because Alistair's voice cuts off instantly.

Daylen grinds their hips together, as if he could somehow get any deeper. "You can touch your cock." If he doesn't say it now, he's not going to remember later. "You can get yourself off or not, whatever you want, but put one hand on that wall or I will fuck you right through it."

Without looking, Alistair slaps a palm against the wall above his head, fingers spread and arm braced.

Daylen doesn't give him any more warning than that, just puts one foot on the floor for leverage, grabs Alistair's hips, and lets himself go. As hard and as fast as he promised, his fingers tight as a vise on Alistair's hips. Daylen's hips snap forward to drive his cock deep, and then jerk back to pull almost all the way out, his hands moving Alistair forward and back to make each thrust even harder.

Under him, Alistair is incoherent now, moaning into the sheets and rocking back to meet Daylen's thrusts. The hand on the wall doesn't move, but Alistair's other hand is everywhere except on his cock: pulling his hair, squeezing the back of his own neck, fisting the sheets, and grabbing for Daylen's ass to drag him deeper, to make Daylen fuck him harder and faster.

There's nothing but this now: skin and sweat, Alistair's ragged groans and the creak of the bed frame, the perfect heat of his body dragging the aching tension in Daylen's balls into more heat and more tension and a deeper ache, always more. He could have come already, but he tips himself away from the edge again and again, wanting more, as much as he can wring from each moment. Alistair finally grabs his own cock, stroking it at a pace to match the rocking of Daylen's hips, and somehow finds a way to fuck himself harder.

Daylen spreads himself out over Alistair's back, craving more of everything. One arm around Alistair's chest, breathing the same labored breaths, desperate for air but not as desperate as he is for this. His other hand in Alistair's hair, grabbing what he can, soft damp strands and the high sound Alistair makes when it's pulled. Skin under his mouth, twisted enough for him to bite, so he does, sucking and scraping with his teeth. Thrusting in short, sharp jerks, Alistair grinding against him, trying to drive him in deeper, as if there's a single inch of Daylen's cock that isn't already stretching him wide.

Everything stops, or at least, everything that matters, because Alistair stops. Stops moving, stops breathing, stops fucking himself brutally hard on Daylen's cock. No sound now, not even his hand on his cock, and then every muscle in his body clenches in waves and he makes a sound through his teeth, a high keening sob as he jerks against Daylen. Daylen clings to him, cock buried as deep as he can, until Alistair goes limp and suddenly Daylen's weight is enough to drop them flat on the mattress.

Daylen shoves Alistair's legs apart, gets his knees on the mattress and his hands on Alistair's shoulders, and fucks down into him in the same tight thrusts, sometimes grinding more than thrusting, desperate now to finish. The pressure under his skin is almost too much, needing an outlet and feeding back on itself instead of pushing outward. He presses his face into Alistair's back and bites thoughtlessly, instinctively, at it. Alistair groans and shudders under him, ass clenching again, and that's enough to tip the balance.

His body no longer even marginally under his control, Daylen's hips snap forward one last time and stay there, balls drawing up tight and cock pulsing, everything washed away as he comes in a shuddering rush that doesn't let him go until he's as drained and limp as Alistair.

He doesn't know how long they lie there afterward, only that he isn't ready to move when Alistair begins to shift under him. Since Daylen knows he's not a small man, even if he does lack a warrior's bulk, he really can't fault Alistair for wanting him to move, but he holds on for an extra moment anyway, pressing his face against the back of Alistair's neck.

"You really are trying to kill me," he says into Alistair's hair.

"Felt like the other way around," Alistair says. His voice is sleepy and satisfied, and when Daylen drags himself reluctantly out of bed, he can see the smug smile that goes with it.

 _Do not get back in that bed,_ he tells himself sternly, because the temptation is high, but he'll be sorry later and he knows it. There are a few things he needs to do first--namely, clean both of them up, get rid of his clothes, and coax Alistair into the other, cleaner bed--but then. Then he can collapse and wrap himself around Alistair.

Somehow the bed has even less space than what they would have in their tent, but they find a position that probably won't leave either of them too unhappy in the morning, legs tangled and arms around each other, Alistair's forehead against Daylen's chest. Out on the road, they would never sleep like this, not when the time needed to untangle themselves could be a fatal delay, but it's safer here, behind a locked door.

Which reminds him. Daylen opens one eye to look down the bed and cast a spell he's cast so often he can do it even exhausted and on the edge of sleep.

Alistair stirs at the feel of magic so close. "Hm?"

"Warding the door," Daylen murmurs. "Go to sleep. And stop that," he adds, laughing, when Alistair starts to place soft kisses along his collarbone. "Forget setting the wrong person on fire, if I don't get some sleep I'm going to be the first Grey Warden in history to die by accidentally walking into a tree."

"It's still early," Alistair says, but he does stop.

"And I've got a lot of sleep to catch up on, thanks to you." The last week hasn't been as bad as the first in terms of fucking when they should be sleeping, but Daylen will admit without the tiniest shred of regret that they haven't been as good as they could have been, either.

"Hey!" Alistair protests, grinning. "Why is it my fault?"

"Well, it's either your fault or mine," Daylen says, "and why would I want to take responsibility if I don't have to?"

Alistair makes a disgruntled noise. "If I'm going to get blamed, I think I should get something out of it."

"You did," Daylen says. He runs a hand down Alistair's back to cup his ass and pull him closer. "Remember?"

"I'm not sure," Alistair says doubtfully. "I think there was something, but it's a little vague."

Daylen puts his mouth against Alistair's ear and murmurs, "It's a shame you can't remember, because I can, and it was..." Words fail him. The only ones he can think of are over-dramatic or over-used. He changes direction and teases instead. "Sorry it was such a disappointment. I know it wasn't quite what you asked for, but I'd hoped it would be close enough."

Alistair gives an incredulous laugh. "Yeah, 'close enough,' that's definitely what I'd call it." He huffs another laugh, then breathes, "Maker," with all the fervor of a prayer.

He needs to not do that when his mouth is pressed into the curve of Daylen's neck, because he's making Daylen regret that earlier decision to sleep rather than find out what Alistair had planned to do.

Of course, it's not too late to change his mind. If he wants to.

Daylen's hand moves without direction from his brain, tugging Alistair's leg up to wrap it around Daylen's waist. Alistair gasps as he's pulled forward and his cock rubs against Daylen's thigh where it's now shoved between his. The sound he makes on the exhale is somewhere between an intrigued hum and a tiny moan, and his voice cracks as he says, "I thought we were sleeping."

"Did you want to?" Daylen asks, his mouth still beside Alistair's ear.

He's not sure what form he's expecting the answer to take, but it isn't the one he gets. It's easy to forget how strong Alistair is: he's so eagerly submissive during sex it hasn't been relevant, and when it's most relevant--during fights--Daylen is usually distracted by trying not to die.

Impossible to forget it now as Alistair somehow manages to flip them over, putting Daylen on top, and slide closer to the center of the bed without any apparent sign that he has to work to move the dead weight of a full-grown man. Daylen isn't usually fond of being manhandled, but he's too startled at first and then too distracted by having Alistair beneath him. Alistair reaches over their heads, sliding his hands between the mattress and the wall to grip the bedframe, and his legs slip another few inches apart.

"I thought we were going to sleep," Alistair says, his eyes locked on Daylen's.

"I thought so, too." Daylen kisses him, biting his lower lip until he groans, then pulls back just far enough to say, "But I hear it's still early."

Alistair grins, so of course Daylen has to kiss him again, and fuck it. They can sleep later.

**Author's Note:**

> My brain is fucking with me, so it was either this or a cheerful little story centered on killing the archdemon without Morrigan's ritual. Yes, that was my sarcasm voice. I decided on the happy people having mildly kinky sex. You're welcome?
> 
> ETA: if I do write the depressing story, it would not be for these two. They will have a lot of kinky sex (for varying degrees of kinky), and as little angst as I can manage, and that's it.


End file.
